


Leap Before You Look (working title)

by Momma



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ... or do I?, Chuckle Voodoos, Dream Bubbles (Homestuck), F/F, F/M, Gen, Hybrid World Reset, I mean humans and Trolls live together now, M/M, Multi, Named Reader, Other, Reader Does Not Think Things Through, Should I be posting this - the answer is no, You the Reader Have a Crush on Eridan, and by hybrid, but as close as I will get to making a slow burn, not a slow burn, reader is a cuddler, you remember the dream bubbles, you think he’s cute, you want to pamper him, you’re employed by a Makara it is inevitable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23112520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momma/pseuds/Momma
Summary: You’re a very good secretary for a Troll-Human hybrid of a company. Somehow, this means everyone wants your time.Also? You have a crush. And a meddling boss....It could be worse?
Relationships: Eridan Ampora/Female Reader, Eridan Ampora/Reader, Eridan Ampora/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	1. An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Should I begin a new chapter/story? No. Do I care? No. I need this out there so I Stop. Touching. It.

Homestuck SI/Eridan    
  
You are Danelli McLeod - Dani for short - and this close, THIS CLOSE, to coming over the front of the receptionist desk and using this lady’s tie to strangle her with it. That she’s a seven feet tall Amazon with horns that are meant for goring is inconsequential at the end of the day. Because her condescending you-are-human-thus-stupid attitude is the most grating bullshittery at the end of your very long day. You only have two hours left in a ten hour day. You will not fuck up this close to a nice long afternoon devoted to a much needed spa day.    
  
Humans, you have found, are a bit more skittish when they are not the end all, be all of the food chain. You are an exception to the rule, so you tend to get the jobs at work that has you working with idiots. On both ends of the spectrum. It’s tedious and you are honestly not paid enough for this shit.    
  
“Ma’am. Please, sit in the waiting room with everyone else and we’ll be right with you as soon as there is an opening.”    
  
You are morning reception from six am to six pm with two half hour breaks tucked in there and ten minutes to your self every two hours. It’s a nice setup, your gig does pay well, but you are not meant to deal with Trolls. This giant buttnugget is early to her Very Important Meeting and you are so DONE. You know Mr. Ampora and Mr. Makara are barely functionally awake in the upper reaches of Alternia Inc. because the reaching tendrils of Mr. Makara’s Chuckle Voodoos are just now teasing your own mind. The giant of a Troll isn’t doing it on purpose and you are fine if he touches on your thoughts. He’ll probably find your mental bitching in direct contrast to your physical responses hilarious.    
  
He usually does.    
  
But there is a reason the time for meetings are set so strictly. “If you are unable to wait, I can set you up with Dirkland Strider - he is a capable CEO of the company and would be more than willing to hear you out.”    
  
Because you like not being the one to deal with every bitch and complaint, you made sure one of the Heroes of Before was made CEO, turning down the offer of generosity with a bland smile. You haven’t been at the top of the steaming pile of offal that is corporate and you have absolutely negative one hundred interest in doing so. Stress can only be relieved by foot massages so many times before you become homicidal.    
  
Before is, of course, a misnomer because it Never Actually Happened.    
  
(That is what happens when one rewrites time and space. That doesn’t mean that at least ten percent of seven billion humans don’t Remember a Time of Before, including yourself. You have acclimated well - not everyone has been able to and more than one is set up in a nice home with 24/7 care and the good drugs.)    
  
So you had known him to be a Hero (technically) and went about setting him up to take the promotion. He had congratulated you on a well played set up. While whining for a giant mug of coffee at four am and you giggling tiredly before going back to sleep. You had brought him a Giant Mug from the Troll run coffee shop on Fifth that was just shy of being rocket fuel and he had actually cried behind his obnoxious shades and hugged you.    
  
His Platonic Troll Boyfriend had had a conniption since he had been sitting pretty for his human half and been ignored in favor of thanking you.    
  
Ah... what good times.    
  
“-are you even LISTENING TO ME?!”    
  
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but unless you want to deal with a Makara that has not had his morning rocket fuel and writhing Chuckle Voodoos, you will sit down in the waiting room and WAIT.” The smile you give is distinctly challenging even as humor from said Makara washes over your mind. He is an interesting person, in on every negotiation and meeting with his Hate Boyfriend Ampora. They make it work so well, there are literal books written on How To Hate Properly For Dimwits about them. “Now, please,” you stress as all color leaves her face, “sit. Down.”    
  
She sits. Very, very quietly. You sigh, taking a sip of your non caffeinated beverage in the hopes it will cool your not so forgettable temper. You are a professional and will not tackle the people who go out of their way to make your life a little more full of their bullshit. You are better than that and actually like this job. Sure the hours are long, but four day work weeks with compensation for coming in on days off that would make younger you cringe from the excess are more than worth it. Your nest egg has become sizable after just three years of saving. Your apartment is shitty, your life is lonely, but you want a house out of town with a Teleporter and you will get it and your little dog too.    
  
If you had a dog. You do not. Not for lack of wanting one, but due to some serious health codes. Trolls are delicate in the most unusual ways. It is surprisingly cute and you feel embarrassed amusement from Makara when he gleans that from your thoughts, making you flush ever so slightly in mild mortification.    
  
But, well, you knew going in that this job would be unusual and very open with your employers. You can’t help if you think they’re precious little hell raisers.    
  
“Excuse me?”    
  
You look up and see the heir to Alternia Inc. Eridan. He’s still young enough that he looks it, but with the more usual seven-and-some-odd feet tall of his pops that means he should be as tall as he’s going to get. The more a Troll takes after a parent, the more likely they are to be damn near clone copies. And, really, while similar to the point of weird, he’s much cuter than his pops, softer face, rounder chin, and eyes that are wider with fuller lips. You ignore the knowing hum in your mind as you shut down any and all physical responses to the Troll.    
  
He’s gorgeous and sweet and you want him, but you are at work and that is Not Professional. You glance at the time on your screen. Just an hour and forty-two minutes to go. Then you can flirt.    
  
“Good afternoon, Eridan.” Okay, so maybe you can’t tuck all those physical responses away any more than you can shut your gob, because that came out more fond and breathy than you intended. Deep breath. You can do this. Be professional. “Are you here to see Mr. Ampora or Mr. Makara?”    
  
He flushes a little, a small smile tilting his lips. “Yeah, I know Pops isn’t up fully yet-“ understatement, you muse “-but I do need to see him right quick before he starts his day.”    
  
You smile more warmly than you should and buzz the door. It clicks softly as you wave your hand towards it. “Go on then. I know Mr. Makara is awake and functional.” The sheer amount of glee in your mind is very much that of said named Troll, “But it might be a good idea to start up the coffee for your pops. I think Mr. Makara may be up to mischief already.”    
  
The handsome (pretty) Troll snickers as he wanders to the door, pushing through. It clicks shut behind him, the lady from before giving it a sour look but in no hurry to move. Only Trolls with tolerance for Chuckle Voodoos want to mess with a gleeful Mirthful Messiah. She is not one of them.    
  
Most humans can’t (or won’t) handle it. You have come to the conclusion that they’re either wet blankets afraid of having their thoughts absently scanned by paranoid Trolls (its only paranoia if they aren’t out to get you) or just too sensitive to the feeling of other’s thoughts. You think most are of the latter.    
  
The mild and distracted agreement from your employer on the latter issue is... well, not surprising, but actually very, very unusual. No, it is surprising. He’s very closed off about things. And that’s his business. Your job is to help keep his time table stable and moderately sensible and his business his own. Not to mention manning the station labeled “guardian‘s gate”. No. Literally. Someone stuck a label and everything on the inside rim of the front desk. Without capitalization. It is ridiculous and you barely refrain from removing it most days and replacing it with a proper plaque.    
  
Go big or go home.    
  
A warm thrum of enjoyment tickles at the back of your mind, a sharp joy that feels a little too much like knives and razor blades in the shape of a happily purring kitten of death. It is cute but you do actually know better than to stick your hand into the maw of the beast. So, calmly, you ignore the feeling even as the Troll from earlier shivers and pales further as sweat beads her brow. She can’t handle the cute, you think, internally giggling.    
  
There is something fundamentally wrong with your head space. It may or may not coincide with being able to remember Before (as little more than a forgotten Dream Bubble) or that you have grown weary of stupidity and arrogance from everyone. Or that you generally hang out with Trolls on a day-to-day basis.    
  
Who knows.    
  
The teasing feel of conspiracy from Mr. Makara is something that does make your hackles stand at attention. There are very few times that that particular feeling hasn’t ended up with you either doing something ridiculous or being the target of said conspiracy. There is one memorable time that you attended a luncheon tea as the waitstaff while the power duo of Alternia Inc. spoke to The Empress and Heir in person. You had made it out relatively unscathed, but now there is a fish pun email every week asking about switching tracks and being employed to the frankly terrifying Empress of Trolls.    
  
Terrifying because she is... Before her was a warmonger mass murderer with little conscious. The new heir is barely public friendly. But less genocidal-homicidal. So. You know, Kudos. But also, no.    
  
You glance at the time on the monitor. One hour, four minutes. Dammit.    
  
Finally, things start happening and you ignore the low hum of Chuckle Voodoos in your mind as you take in the two early Trolls, new hires by the sheafs of paper in hand. The first, male, warm blooded, horns that make your neck ache just looking at them, smiles warmly, teeth like that of a canid showing briefly against black lips. His papers are easy to check over, all the lines filled out and the pamphlets properly dated and annotated. He’s a precious cinnamon roll, you think, his warm colored blush lighting his face as you compliment him on a job well done. Stamping an APPROVAL across the front in blandly shiny wet ink, you have him sit as the second Troll steps up.    
  
The moment you see his paperwork... whoooooo, boy.    
  
The writing is atrocious and near illegible, half of it is filled out incorrectly, and while this is part of your job (with the human contingent) you greatly doubt you can intimidate this asshole into doing this right. Well, might as well try.    
  
You gleefully stamp a DENIED in red over his to the Troll’s utter horror. Ignoring his spluttering, you reach down for a new batch of papers, the folder slick and familiar in your hands. The amount of times you have had to do this for human applicants is amazing, why are humans so lazy about paperwork? It isn’t fun, no, but it is necessary for corporate.    
  
“Do be a darling and fill these out fully and legibly with the appropriate information. This is a must and I will have to deny you again if you cannot complete this easy, simple task required by the company.” You smile pleasantly at the horror in his face even as the other two Trolls stare fascinated at you. “There are pull out desks along the chairs, not the couches, and pens here,” you lay both the folder and two Troll-sized pens on the top counter to your desk, “available for use. I understand that you wanted to look impressive, but looking impressive and being impressive are very separate in this company. Please keep to plain lettering - calligraphy has no place on an application.”    
  
He splutters some more, low invective slowly making itself known before he is planting his large hands on the desktop, nails digging into the granite top as he looms over you. You are used to worse and stare drolly. Then he makes eye contact and while you can feel his little mind trick trying to manifest... well, you can handle Chuckle Voodoos, so his little tantrum doesn’t even tease you.    
  
“Excuse you, that is very rude, trying to mind rape a person who is doing their job,” you snip crossly, eyes narrowing even as his widen in shock. “If this is the way you treat people, you are not going to like working here. Mr. Makara is adamant about his employees having self governed mental facilities and those with the abilities inherent in themselves to reign them in. You are not going to be an exception, sir.”    
  
You tap the top of the folder. “Now fill these out properly or leave.”    
  
Sullen and quiet now, he takes the papers with a snarl, slumping in his chosen seat and pulling up the desk to work. When the sound of pen on paper starts up, its eleven minutes until you are done.    
  
You’ll miss asking Eridan out for tea and snacks again. Mainly because this is like most of the times he comes and he always makes it out the door ten minutes before the end of your shift. 

That’s when you’re surprised.  _ “Dani, please come on up. Kukuro will take your place early. We need overtime.”  _

You blink up at the intercom for a moment before humming, packing things up neatly and leaving a message for your Troll counterpart. He steps from the door with hesitation, glancing around. He’s a green-blood, shorter than what you always expect and with horns like a white tailed deer. He’s precious, honestly, and reminds you of your younger siblings. 

“Good evening, Kukuro. Here are tonight’s notes. Please be a dear and help the one with his new forms. He’s a bit full of ego,” you state simply, gathering your briefcase. Even with him short for a troll, you are still shorter than the six foot tall beanpole. Kukuro for his part just giggles a little. He always does that when you talk to him for reasons unknown. 

“Thank you, Miss McLeod. I’m sure this will be helpful.” He smiles, letting you through the door. You pay his forearm on the way through, distracted as you work on getting your head together. Your long awaited spa day is on hold. Again. There is a soft mental rumble of apology that you can’t help but soothe. He needs someone dependable and that is more than fine. You’ll do your best for your bosses. Pampered feet can wait. 

The ride up is silent but for the hum of the elevator and low strums of what takes you almost the whole ride to identify as DESPACITO. You groan. Of fucking course. Dirk is in charge of music so of course it is. His ironic use of the song for the elevator should be noted as one of his better ideas. 

Ridiculous man. 

Stepping out at the penthouse level, the strength of the Chuckle Voodoos increases but it isn’t the worst thing out there. Oh. What… 

“Eridan, what…” 

He seems to be fretting something awful, wringing his hands and chewing on his nails. Mr. Ampora is there, hands on his hips with a glare while Mr. Makara is barely keeping back from giggling like a school child. The three round on you, each very much taller than you but when has height ever made you scared of someone? That’s right, NEVER. You refuse to be fearful because you barely meet their sternums (or just above Mr. Makara’s waist, that male is excessive in height). 

“Miss Dani!” And there he is, the youngest Troll now in front of you and on his knees. “Please, please say you’ll do it?” 

You pat his cheek, looking at the full grown Trolls. Your brow goes up, the brush of Mr. Makara across your mind picking up on your questions. He turns sheepish very quickly at the feel of how very tired you actually are. It is harder for him to pick things up like that when there are about nine floors between you and a professional distance. In the penthouse, you tend to relax that aspect with how comfortable you are here. 

“Tiny DS needs a Plus One for the PaRtY,” rumbles the biggest Troll. You wait for the rest of it as you calm Eridan down without thought to what you’re actually doing. It’s a very bad habit, soothing those in distress without permission of a Moirail. You have gotten into HOT SPOTS before because of it. “He is without a Spade, Diamond, or Heart.” 

You take a moment to puzzle that over, your chest clenching. Hot damn. You know he has had a rough time of it, but having his cluster cut him out with only the Clubs filled… You step closer, wrapping your arms around his head to pull him into your bosom. You pet his hair, glaring at Mr. Makara when his lips peel back into a smirk. “Not one word out of YOU, sir. You knew how I would react when you called me of all Humans.” 

Mr. Ampora seems fascinated while Eridan seems to be fidgety for a strange reason. Maybe not so strange if he has been touch starved for as long as the Reset if not longer. You clutch him a bit closer at the mere thought to the fascination of Mr. Eavesdropping-In-Your-Head-Makara. You do not glare at him again but you let him know YOU know what he’s doing. 

Naughty matchmaker. 

Gently admonishing him in your head, you croon to Eridan. “Of course I will help you out. Now,” you look at both of the tycoons, face firm. “Which party?” 

Mr. Ampora smiles a little, an actual smile. “Well…” 

“It’s the Alternian Gala Anniversary party. Lil Sis gonna wreck some hearts.” 

You feel faint. You’ve already agreed but now you regret. This isn’t some silly party. This is The Party of the decade! 

And that queen fish bitch is going to be there. This is going to be… interesting. 

“Oh.” 

You think a little longer. 

“Damn.” 


	2. The Makaras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell about HS with me: [Yo, bropal](https://discord.gg/4dCN72X)

CHAPTER TWO 

  
  


So, you’ve been roped into being Eridan’s Plus One for the biggest entertainment slugfest to be aired in the last decade. You have two days to buy what you need for three weeks of schmoozing and to make Eridan look amazing at the finale of the party. Overtime does not even begin to cut it. 

The Black card you’re given does help. 

“I need at least one wardrobe change for every day, four… no, FIVE for all three Saturdays, and a final outfit to steal the show.” You’re making an annotated list of what you are going to need beside the long, long list of gatherings from the pamphlet Mr. Ampora is probably not supposed to have but does anyway. Nothing you own is brand enough for this kind of party and it is going to be too much to ask that you be ignored when hanging off a tall pretty boy’s arm like a bit of chewing gum lumped into something vaguely resembling the gaudy jewels of the higher circles. “Ugh, dammit, bosses.” 

You would say more but, really, you volunteered for this without reading the fine print of the agreement — AKA, you jumped the gun and now you have to dodge the bullets. Not that you don’t get awesome benefits. A new Oscar worthy wardrobe and three weeks with the prettiest fish you have ever seen are pretty nice appetizers. It’s just. You’re YOU and you have a habit of being a bit cruel to be kind and telling it like it is. 

Oh. You forgot. “Jewelry.” 

You circle the word three times. You HATE jewelry. It’s little more than pretty polished rocks to get tangled in your hair and clothes. It’s obnoxious and draws attention and you would rather bedeck Eridan with rings upon bracelets upon earrings and necklaces than wear any yourself. 

… 

That’s not a bad idea. 

You make a note about that. Gifting him pretty baubles all through the week to match your ensembles would be fun and make you feel better about this whole… wishy-washy glittering brilliance of bullshitting. It wouldn’t hurt that it would be considered Troll Courting behavior. You are ALL for courting the neglected Heir of Hope. 

“Hey, Lil Sis.” 

You glance up at Gamzee Makara and GHB Makara, the two not all that different. Sure, Gamzee was a twig right now and just barely shorter than Eridan, but he was still a baby teen compared to the tower of Mirthful Messiah. That is nothing to be ashamed of. Though it begged the question why they are here when it was, oh. Midnight dinner hour. Has it really been six hours? 

“Hey, Baby Boy. Hey, Big Bad. What are you two doing up here? Don’t you have a meeting with SBURB? Or SGRUB; I can never figure out which, just that they’re both brats.” 

GHB chuckles a little, his Voodoos swirling in your mind. Gamzee grins, face as white painted as his father’s. They’re a bit polar opposites and it’s adorable when they find common ground. ICP is also a lot more interesting with literal Trolls as their rappers now. 

A bit more vulgar, too, but that is neither here nor there. 

“Both, actually,” comments Mr. Makara, the male settling on the floor even as his heir takes a seat. 

You are all on the guest floor meant for humans and a lot of the things for them are never quite as sturdy as what’s available for Trolls. Humming, you make another note, thinking about shoes. You need elevation - Eridan is not a short Troll - but you also need to be able to WALK in said shoes. You grimace a little because there are not many things on your phone popping up that could be considered worthy or brand enough for this mess you’ve gotten yourself into and you still need to be able to walk the next night. 

“LoOkS LiKe SiS bE hAvInG tRoUbLe…” 

Chuckle Voodoos are never a smooth transition and Gamzee is pressing too hard despite wanting to be gentle. You smile at him as you press back softly within your mind. “Softly, Baby Boy. Relax a little here,” you comment, leaning over to tap his crown. “It will help you calm the Voodoos.” 

He seems to be confused and you look to your resident Big Bad with a brow up. Did he seriously not tell the kid? Sighing at his shit-eating grin, you lift your hands towards the smaller Makara. “Will you trust me?” 

He is a bit… uncomfortable with the whole idea and you get it. You’re some unknown Human willing to put your hands all over them without a Quadrant or a proper introduction. You are also someone who fills in for Mr. Makara when he needs to calm his tits. Mr. Ampora is not someone to help calm the giant down and when this mysterious Moirail of his is out of the picture, you tend to be the one to jump in both feet because Chuckle Voodoos are no laughing matter. 

Gamzee, being a smart kid, looks to the adult in this situation. Well, mostly adult. You frown and poke at him mentally. He’s in your brain, there is no way he didn’t feel that. “Be responsible, GHB. Explain to your sprog.” 

His grin grew. “Where’s the fun in that, Lil Sis?” 

You actually growl at him. It’s pitiful since your throat isn’t meant for the sound at all, but it’s a damn good try. “I will personally remove every Faygo drink in this tower and the next twenty blocks of this city out of spite one day. You will not expect it because I will have already set it in motion and will forget the event even happened before my vengeance comes to pass. I am much more patient than you and I can wait.” 

He looks suitably horrified. His sprog looks on with admiration, his eyes going big and awed. You smile at him sweetly. “Lil SiS,” he chuckles gleefully, making the room waver in your vision for a moment. “Are you fLiRtInG with GhB???” 

You pat his forearm where less nerves cluster. “Oh, sweet boy. That’s just how humans are. We can be your best friend and love you, but we will rain hell fire and wrath on your dumbass when we feel slighted too much without an ounce of hate. It’s why we don’t have Quadrants - we don’t truly have a division in our emotional responses.” 

They both soak that in eagerly and you take a long second to think about how humans always want more information on Trolls but Trolls don’t seem to have that same curiosity. Maybe that falls into a Quadrant thing? That is something to think about. The even longer silence followed by almost-reluctant agreement in your mind has your eyes going to GHB. He is looking at you in a new light, suddenly much more interested. Ridiculous Troll. It’s much too fond to be anything but mild annoyance and in the Pale corner. 

Oh no. Have you been  _ flirting  _ -flirting? That is so rude! 

“Don’t worry, Lil Sis. You didn’t step in without permission. Though…” he trailed off, propping his chin in his hand, elbow on his thigh. “Gonna need a lotta ‘splainin’ for just about everything and everyone. Your Fishcake is gonna need the long talk and not just a generalization.” 

You sigh, scrubbing a hand through your hair, turning it from coiffed to unruly in one go. You eventually just tug out the hairband and drop it on the table. “Oh that will be  _ fun, _ not. He’s a bit fragile and I don’t want to damage him, GHB. I’d ask for advice, but apparently that’s a Quadrant thing.” Running your hands through your hair again, you sigh. “Well, fucking shit.” 

The two exchange looks even as you start taking more notes than just what to take with you. You are going to need to do a lot of talking and it is not going to be good if you fuck yourself over before you even begin. There is only so far you can follow the Quadrants before your general humanity overrides the thought process. You are an emotional animal and nothing will change that. 

Not good intentions, false hopes, pretty wishes, nor a decree. 

“HeY sIs,” eventually rumbles Gamzee, the sprog looking kind of pained but also interested. “aBoUt ThAt ThInG…?” 

You flex one hand at him. “The Chuckle Voodoos? Want me to show you what I’m talking about?” He nods and you straighten up, wishing for your pumps and those extra inches because even sitting, he’s taller than you. Damn Trolls. “Alright, Baby Boy. If at any time you’re uncomfortable, you tell me and I will stop immediately. This is for your benefit and not just my curiosity.” 

He hesitates before nodding again, biting on his upper lip. You can’t seem to stop your fingers from pressing to his lips and teeth. “Don’t do that. Even you’re likely to puncture your lip.” With teeth like a shark’s triangular chompers, it is entirely possible. Looking around, you end up dragging the coffee table over so you stand tall enough to reach between his horns. Standing in front of him in just your stocking clad feet, you slowly reach forward, more than allowing him time to pull away. He doesn’t but he does flinch when your hand goes into his tangle of curls that are surprisingly coarse. “Here goes.” 

Your fingers delve deep into the mass, reaching the horns and gently rubbing fingers up the darkest orange parts and down to the beds. He startles when you do. Humming softly, you shift a bit and apply more pressure. He chirrups in contentment, your fingers going from the horn beds to the scalp. There are extra tendons, ligaments, and muscles attached to the skull and neck of a Troll than a human. It’s how they move their ears, are capable of unhinging their jaws in snake-like fashion, and, for most of those with mental abilities, create a physical trigger that manipulates the energy around them between their horns. This just also happens to be the largest cluster of nerves that can induce a lucid, calming state. 

A Moirail was one of the very few beings that got close enough to induce the state. 

“Pay attention, Baby Boy. I started at your horns for a reason.” You lean over him a little more, your breasts against his chin. It would be mortifying if you cared. “This is all speculation, of course, but your horns are receptors and broadcasters. Like antennas for television. The reason I think your Voodoos get so out of hand is that you haven’t, A) built up resistance to the interference of other broadcasts, B) have little to no mental defenses, and-or C) you’re constantly reaching out and while that’s okay with very small groups, well, cities are hives of activity, thoughts, and ambience. It’s overwhelming on a good day with just normal ambiance, but add in the mental chatter and emotional responses which all vary and you have a massive trigger for the silencing affect Voodoos cause both vocally and mentally.” 

You rub from the center of his scalp out, following what you think are the lines of hidden flesh beneath the soft chiton that made up the Troll race skin. He sinks his face against your neck and breasts, a low animalistic churring thrumming from his chest. “Your skin is thick because it is a chitinous scale that overlaps but is so small that it’s hardly noticeable. Your tendons, ligaments, and muscles are more hominid beneath that, but in a superficial way. You and GHB have more musculature in your necks and around your skulls that any human I know. Most humans have a thin layer of tissue paper skin over the barest of meaty tendons and ligaments that connect the skull to the neck. That’s it. After that, it’s a skull that’s only about as strong as a watermelon and possible to pop like said fruit.” 

“Lil Sis, are you telling me that you humans are motherfucking fragile?” GHB seems perturbed about it but it was what it was. 

“Oh yeah. We are delicate, stubborn animals.” You spread your fingers to touch several places at once and the kiddo nearly puddles up in your lap. “The strength to bite off our fingers is about how much required to bite a carrot, but our brains are hardwired to not want to impose that kind of self harm. We get spinal and cranial injuries just from everyday activities. I’ve broken more than one toe while working here.” 

“LIL SIS, that’s not funny to joke about!” 

“Who says I’m joking?” 

“Dani-Sis, are you telling me you were injured in my domain and said nothing about it?” GHB leans forward, eyes starting to glow as his Chuckle Voodoos grow heavier. “That you sustained broken bones and did not report it nor visit a health care professional?” 

GHB is surprisingly eloquent when worried and you just grin. “Oh, you papa bear, you. I’m fine. Not like anyone can do a whole lot for broken toes, anyway.” 

The Voodoos from Gamzee are nearly dormant, the massage of several key nerve clusters on his skull making him relax in a small bit of quiet internal head space. Patting his shoulders, you help him lay back and relax. “There. All relaxed. The problem with Voodoos is that you guys don’t actually relax and let the entirety of your head go quiet and soft. It’s hard to reach and it’s not hardwired at all.” 

Hands on your hips, you admire your handy work. He will need some water for when he comes back and you are quick to filter a pitcher of water after retrieving a massive canister from the cupboard, tossing in a few nutrient and vitamin disks. A bit of sugar to help with the bitter aftertaste and you are done. Setting the canister on the coffee table right in front of him, you are not prepared for GHB to hook his paw around your torso and deposit you in his lap. 

“Lil Sis, we gonna talk.” Oh. He’s calmed again, Voodoos at a nice low hum. “Now. What do you mean you get injured in my place of residence and employment but do not bother to tend these things? Broken bones are no laughing matter.” 

Gosh, he’s such a Dad sometimes and it’s cute how fuzzy he acts when you know a kitten of razor blades is just beneath the surface. “Well, the worst I could do is accrue nerve damage which I’ve already done. I haven’t severed anything and as long as I tape my toes and wear low shoes for a few weeks, I’m fine.” 

“That’s not what I’m asking.” 

You sigh, reaching under your skirt to unhook the garter belt strap and roll down the silk to show him your toes. You wiggle the four inner ones while your pinkie toes kind of doesn’t move. If it doesn’t have fused bones by now, you would be surprised. “I’ve broken my pinkies, both of them, mind, more times than I have fingers since I started working here. You have several very heavy topiary too far into the walkways and, while most Trolls don’t go that far back, the few that do have shoes meant for taking damage.” Starting on the other stocking, you take them both in hand and fold them. “As per mandate of the Human side of the dress code, I must wear at least one inch pumps at all times. Those types of shoes do not have any protective properties and, well, when I knock into the topiary stands, the marble wins over fleshy Human bones.” 

He rumbles and it’s stupidly soothing, the vibrations against your back relaxing me in ways that I haven’t been in months. You yawn, tucking your feet into the comfortable warmth of the very large Troll. “That seems easy enough to fix. But why have you not said anything?” 

You shrug, your eyes getting heavy. “I did, at first, and nothing came of it. There are only so many times you can report something to your supervisor before the ignorance and literal avoidance of the topic makes you just… stop trying it that way.” You rub your eyes, the silk stockings in your lap. “You either quietly take care of it yourself or get fired.” 

The rumbling behind you doubles down and it’s like sitting in a massage chair with settings on low. You actually nod off more than once before the late hour and near twenty-one hours awake drag you into the darkness of exhausted sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been taking me so long to update... anything. I have one (1) 4yo cell phone available to me and I can’t type any faster on a cracked screen. I would put a Ko-Fi or something in an effort to maybe raise some funds, but I’m not allowed. So, uh, have fun. Leave Kudos if you want but I always adore a nice review, even if it is a “you missed something” kind of thing. It lets me know I’m not tapping away my life into a void.


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